


I Never Wanted Anything From You (Except Everything You Had)

by secondstar



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Airships, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Steampunk, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Magic, Mentions of past abuse, Shapeshifting, Sky Pirates, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Steampunk, Wolf Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-25
Updated: 2015-01-25
Packaged: 2018-03-09 01:12:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3230606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secondstar/pseuds/secondstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles would follow Derek anywhere: land, sea, or air. </p><p>Stories of old told of the wolf and the raven working together, traveling and hunting as one. Stiles didn't believe in stories, but he believed in Derek and that was all that mattered.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Never Wanted Anything From You (Except Everything You Had)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [patrese1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/patrese1/gifts).



> beta'd by lauren, beth, and bk. thank you! 
> 
> written for the Fandom Initiative auction, for patrese. Thank you for bidding on me and I hope you enjoy their adventure! 
> 
> I can be found on tumblr @ attoliancrown!

Stiles walked along the dock, the street lamps still lit despite the hour with the foggy mist that hung in the air. The breeze was brisk, due to the altitude, for late fall, so Stiles popped the collar to his coat, bringing it closer to his skin to keep his neck warmer. He had his hands shoved down into his coat pockets, his cut off gloves leaving the tips of his fingers too cold for his liking. 

The dock, made of scrap metal and wood planking, clanked as Stiles walked, counting to himself as he watched his breath appear before him. His hair was damp, nose cold and running from the temperature. He wanted to be in front of a furnace, wrapped up in a warm blanket with a cup of coffee. 

That would have to wait for another time, though. 

He pulled out his pocket watch, checking the time. As if on cue, the airship’s clock chimed the hour, the sound mechanical and jarring to Stiles’ ears. He hated airships, disliked how packed they were, full of people. He stopped walking, leaning on the railing that looked down into the sky below, above, beyond. Beneath his feet, the ship clanged and clunked its way through the sky, thousands of feet in the air. 

The airship he’d gotten on two days prior wasn’t known for being hospitable to street urchins.. If someone didn’t have the coin for shelter, they wouldn’t find charity aboard the vessel. Stiles himself held everything he owned on his person, including his money. It jingled in his pockets, with enough coin for a small room, shared, deep within the airship. He’d only paid one day ahead, to make sure he had enough for food. 

Stiles watched out of the corner of his eye as a woman walked by him, her dress made of finer cloth than any he’d come across thus far on the airship. His hand moved to his newsboy cap, tugging it down to hide his face as he moved to follow her, his eyes watching his surroundings. 

His feet were light against the metal staircases as he followed her down into the depths of the airship, leaving the dock on the outskirts of it. Inside, the so called streets were lit with oil lamps that flickered. The air was stale inside, warmer due to the body heat. Stiles began to sweat as it became more crowded. Keeping up with her became harder with each step with children running around, people trying to sell their wares, beggars holding out cups, and everyone else going about their daily business. 

When he bumped into her, it was easy, slipping his hand against her pockets, fingers touching the coin he sought. He had no need of jewelry or other such finery. He just wanted the coin. He pocketed it, then turned down the next available corner, pressing his back against the metal wall, taking a breath. After a few moments he emerged, turning the opposite way, towards the bakery. He wanted a cinnamon bun for his efforts. 

Stiles ate as he walked, as there wasn’t room for him to sit in the cramped walkways the airship deemed to call a street. He licked his fingers clean, then wiped them off on a handkerchief he kept in his pants pocket with his father’s initials on them. He didn’t so much as look at them, though, as he stuffed it back where he’d gotten it from. With another check of his pocket watch, he hurried up the nearest set of stairs towards the top floor. 

He’d kept away from it, but there was a schedule to keep to. 

The upper deck of the airship was where the helm was, and where Stiles definitely didn’t want to be. There wasn’t many merchants on the upper deck, or passersby, but it wasn’t off limits to those who paid their way on the ship. It was coldest on the upper deck, and Stiles could feel the chill in his bones as wind swept up his pant legs, through his thin socks, his worn boots. 

He thought about a furnace again, a quilted blanket and warm hands holding his freezing ones. 

Stiles bumped into a man, because he hadn’t been paying attention. Stiles made the best of it, holding a hand out against his chest, feeling for a wallet or billfold. 

“Pardon,” Stiles said as he looked at the man before him. 

“That’s alright,” the man said. He was older, almost bald, and had a grip like a vice as he held onto Stiles’ wrist. Stiles licked his lips as he pulled his hand back as if zapped, his eyes lingering on the signia, alerting Stiles to the fact that the man before him was the ship’s captain. Stiles didn’t let his emotions show on his face as he took a step back, ready to go back into the depths of the ship. 

Stiles turned his head away, tugging his cap down anxiously as the man put a hand on his shoulder. 

“You look cold, why don’t you come warm yourself?” 

The clock chimed, letting Stiles know it was half past the hour. Almost time. 

“Sure, sir, thanks,” Stiles said in a faux chipper voice as he allowed himself to be lead inside, the heat hitting him immediately. He began stripping off his layers, setting his coat down over a chair, his gloves and hat laying on top of it like the coat itself wasn’t his life. He looked around the room tentatively, rolling his shirtsleeves up just enough to warm his hands, stopping before he went to far as to reveal his tattoo, inked black. It wouldn’t do him any good, revealing that here. 

Stiles was aware of the captain’s gaze upon him as he knelt by the furnace, rubbing his hands together. He bent over, warming his face as well, when he felt a hand on his backside for just a moment. Stiles spun, grabbing hold of his father’s handkerchief as the captain himself tried to filch it from him. 

“Hey!” Stiles shouted. “That’s mine!”

“Is it now?” The captain said, appraising the fine embroidery, and emblem that was in the opposite corner of the cherkief of his father’s initials. “And how would an urchin like you get such a thing? By stealing it?” 

“No,” Stiles said, his brow furrowed. The captain stepped forward, his form imposing. Stiles wasn’t short, but he was slight, his frame broad but lanky. Stiles looked around the room once more as he walked around the captain, circling him, only the captain himself was trying to corner Stiles, his breath hot against Stiles’ as he forced him against his desk. Stiles’ hands scrambled around the desk, searching for something. 

He found a letter opener, which was good as anything. With one swipe of the opener, he gashed the captain’s cheek. He didn’t have time as he turned around, his eyes wide as he lunged for the money purse he’d seen, clutching it tight before bolting. The captain raged as he held onto his face with one hand and reached out for Stiles with the other, managing to grab hold of Stiles’ suspenders. Stiles slashed again with the opener, nicking the captain’s arm. 

There wasn’t time as he grabbed his coat, forgetting the gloves and the hat as he bolted. The coin in Stiles’ pockets jangled with each movement as he made his way back down into the depths of the airship. He flinched as the clock chimed again, echoing across the airship as a reminder that he didn’t have much time left. 

He wanted to head towards the docks once more, but he couldn’t. Instead, he went to his cramped room to wash up. His hands were shaking as he used a cloth that was draped over the wash basin, trying to rid himself of the dirt and grime of the airship, black soot smearing across his cheek. In the clouded mirror, he could barely make out a difference in his appearance. 

When he was done, he made his way towards the rich end, where he stood out like a sore thumb. He played with the pocket watch, which was new, golden that glinted in the light of the oil lamps in stark contrast to his fingers that had dirt beneath the nails, cracked from exposure, nails bitten down until there was nothing left but skin. 

Around him, the men wore black slacks, ties with collars around their necks while Stiles had none, just his bare front button up shirt, suspenders, and a vest with mismatched buttons beneath his wool coat. Stiles read the signs of the merchants as he hurried past them, even managing to grab himself a new hat that had been similar to his last, though considerably newer. 

He walked into the bank, owned not by the airship, but by the government itself. It was small, cramped like the rest of the airship, with barely enough room for more than ten people in it with one banker that sat behind a barred counter, waiting. Stiles walked up to another counter in order to fill out a form. He’d memorized his account long ago; his father’s account. He deposited money there, when he could, just in case. The coin weighed heavily in Stiles’ coat pocket as he dipped his pen in the inkwell, messily filling in the form, his hands still shaking from his incident with the captain, looking up at the clock on the wall. As he did so, he cast his gaze on a man that walked into the bank, their eyes locking momentarily. Stiles’ face flushed as he cast his eyes back down to his form, which was finished. He lifted it, blowing on it so that it would dry faster. 

The man stood across from him, dressed in fine clothes and a top hat, his gloves unblemished, his stubble refined instead of gruff. Stiles’ eyes were caught on the intricacies of his vest. It looked to be made of silk, with a paisley design on it, probably worth more than Stiles’ entire bag of coin. When their eyes met again, the corner of the man’s mouth lifted in a smirk. Stiles held his breath, clutching at the form as he turned towards the banker. It only took a few steps, and as he slipped the form under the bar, he felt a hand against his throat, pulling him against a solid chest as a gun was cocked. 

Stubble scraped against Stiles’ cheek, breath hot against him as he shook. 

“Give me all your money,” the voice said. It was the finely dressed man, and he was speaking to the banker, whose hands were up in the air. 

“You’ve no where to go,” he said, instead of getting money. 

“Please,” Stiles pleaded, his eyes welling up with tears as he grappled with the man’s wrist. He was strong, stronger than the captain had been. The crew would be called, along with the captain. “Please do as he says.” 

The banker looked at Stiles, empathy showing across his face for Stiles’ predicament: a gun against his temple, the cool metal biting as Stiles closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he saw the banker moving, his entire body shaking as he stuffed coin and bills into a bag. 

Someone else walked into the bank, and Stiles’ captor turned his entire body in one swooping motion, the gun now aimed at a woman and her small child. Without preamble, the hand around Stiles’ throat tightened. 

“Hurry, or you’ll regret it.” 

The banker’s pace quickened as Stiles watched the woman try not to scream as the gun was cocked once more, to signal how serious the man pressed against Stiles’ back was. 

“Give the boy the money.” 

Stiles’ eyes widened as he was forced to walk forward towards the counter, stubble against his cheek once more, making Stiles shudder. 

“Take the bag.” 

“You aren’t going to be able to get off the ship,” the banker said as Stiles took the money, clutching it close to him as the hand around his throat moved to his shoulder, which steered him towards the door, the gun pressed against his head once more. 

“If you don’t want him to die, then you’ll be smart about calling the captain,” was all that was said before Stiles was forced out the door, the gun still pressed against his back, digging into it as they walked down the busy street. 

Stiles tired to remember to breathe as they made their way down further and further, the knots in his stomach lessening as he realized they were heading towards the dock. He tried not to think about the sheer amount of money that he held in his hands, the weight of it jarring him as he was tugged around a corner, then pressed against a wall with a thud. 

“Check the time.” 

Stiles reached into his pocket, looking as best he could in the dark corner. 

“Almost on the hour,” Stiles said, looking up into piercing eyes. 

“Come on,” the man said as he hauled Stiles back into the street, pushing him against the traffic pattern, towards the outskirts of the airship. 

“The captain’ll be after me,” Stiles said as they walked. “I sort of stumbled upon him earlier.”

“Is that so?” 

They continued on without faltering, their footfalls echoing as the pace quickened. A gust of wind met them as they reached the docks, the railing within arms length and along with it, the abyss of the sky, still a foggy mist, the sun no where in sight. 

Stiles’ breath caught in his throat as the clock began to chime once more, counting down. Along the dock, he saw a small airship come into view, about to cast off. With each chime, Stiles’ heart beat quickened. 

He was pushed across the walkway and onto the airship, tumbling onto the wooden deck. His captor lifted the rope keeping the airship docked, then kicked the plank away. He threw the rope on top of Stiles as he rushed towards the helm, where he turned the ship’s wheel, taking them away from the giant airship just in time to see the crewmen arriving. 

Stiles stood, his eyes wide as he watched the airship disappear into the mist. He turned, staring up at the man, a grin breaking out across his face. 

“We did it,” Stiles said after a few minutes. “Derek, we did it.” 

Derek walked towards him, arms outreached. Stiles fell into them, his lips finding Derek’s with ease as he smiled into the open-mouthed kiss, Derek’s tongue delving in. Stiles moaned against it, elated that they’d pulled it off. The kiss deepened as Stiles tugged Derek onto the ground, laying down on his back so that Derek hovered over him. 

“You played your part well,” Derek murmured, eyeing Stiles’ appearance. 

“I need to bathe,” Stiles admitted, his hands cupping Derek’s face. “I need to fly.” 

“So do it,” Derek whispered before kissing Stiles’ lips once more. “I’ll go change, you make yourself scarce for when they stop the ship.” 

Stiles scrambled to his feet, shrugging off his coat, letting Derek hold onto it. 

“I stole from the captain.” 

“So I see,” Derek said as he went through Stiles’ pockets. “And someone else? You should have less coin than this.”

“I was bored,” Stiles stated, giving Derek one last look before he rolled up his sleeves, showing his tattoo, a black raven. Stiles touched the tattoo, black smoke billowing around him until he was nothing more than a raven himself. He lifted himself into the air and away from the ship. 

He circled it as he saw another airship approaching, wary of straying too far. When he felt it was safe, he descended, perching atop one of the masts, watching as Derek allowed men onto their ship to search it for stolen money. 

They found nothing because Derek was a master builder, had built the ship with his own two hands, and they’d find hide nor hair of misplaced coin aboard the vessel without Derek wanting them to do as such. 

Derek, too, had played his part well as the aristocratic man, with more money to spend than he knew what to do with. It was true, in a sense, but Derek was no aristocrat. He was a scavenger, just as Stiles was an air pirate. 

Stiles watched the men leave, then flew down to perch on Derek’s shoulder as he steered the ship towards another port. Stiles fell asleep atop of Derek, but awoke in the warmth of their cabin, surrounded not by Derek in his human form, but that of a wolf. Stiles nipped at his fur before burrowing close, falling back asleep with ease. 

The second time he awoke, he was human, fully clothed, as he always was when he changed back, thanks to the magic within the ink. Beside him, Derek was lying asleep on his stomach, face turned away from him, back bare. Stiles trailed his fingertips along Derek’s spine before getting out of the bed. He still needed to bathe. 

He heated water on their small furnace and stovetop for a sponge bath. While he waited he took a brush and began cleaning his hands and fingers, despising the filthy soot that giant airships brought about. When the water in the kettle boiled, he poured it into a basin along with cold water. It didn’t take long for that water to become murky with dirt and grime, but he kept using it anyways. Water was a precious commodity in the air, and he wasn’t sure of Derek’s plans. 

Derek shifted in bed, bringing Stiles’ attention to him as he scrubbed down, his clothes in a heap on a chair nearby, barring his underclothes. Derek opened his eyes, grinning as he looked up and down Stiles’ body, turning over in bed, pushing the sheets away from him. After toweling off, Stiles climbed back into the bed with him, practically laying atop of him, knees tucked up against Derek’s armpits as he bent over, kissing him on the lips. 

“You did well,” Derek said, his hands moving up and down Stiles’ thighs, beneath the thin fabric of his underclothes that were cut short, just above the knee. He’d normally wear thicker underclothes on an airship, but they’d been in a hurry as they packed. 

Well, they hadn’t packed, was the thing. He’d run away with Derek, and his clothes were all he owned. 

“Thanks,” Stiles said against Derek’s lips. 

Stiles, orphaned, had been a pickpocket in a harbor town, able to keep himself alive by trading in jewels for a disgusting bed, coin for food. One day, he pickpocketed Derek, who pushed Stiles into a corner. It had been summer, then, and Stiles had his sleeves rolled up to reveal his raven. Instead of turning Stiles in Derek brushed his fingers over it. 

Stiles turned into a raven, unsure what else to do to get away. 

Later, he met the wolf in the clearing on the outskirts of town, and felt drawn to it. The rest was history, for Stiles now travelled the world with Derek. 

“You looked good, like a posh gentleman,” Stiles said with a playful smirk as Derek rolled him over onto his back, pinning him down in place. Stiles laughed, his hands straining against Derek’s as they held his own hands over his head, his muscles flexing. 

“You looked like an innocent boy, scared out of your mind with a gun against your head,” Derek said, his nose brushing across Stiles’ cheek as he inhaled. Stiles squirmed beneath him. 

“I’m not so innocent,” Stiles said, breathless as his chest heaved. “I could show you.” 

Derek rolled off of him, running his fingers through his hair as he walked towards his clothes. He was half hard and not wearing anything to hide it. Stiles sat up, his face set in a pout as he watched Derek get dressed. 

“Why do you push away?” Stiles asked, his own erection plain as day beneath the thin fabric of his underclothes. He cupped himself, laying back down with his legs spread, bent at the knees. “Come back.” 

Derek grunted as he looked over at Stiles as he buttoned his shirt, hiding away his hairy chest. Stiles bit his lip as he slipped his hand beneath the fabric, wrapping his hand around his erection. 

“I’m to get us on land,” Derek said, his eyes not leaving Stiles’ ministrations. “We’ve been stagnant too long. Do not tempt me so.” 

Stiles stopped, but didn’t pull his hand away. 

“Why not?” Stiles asked, getting out of bed and standing eye to eye with Derek. Though Derek was older than he and could grow a beard while he himself could not, they were of the same height, same broad shoulders though Stiles’ muscles were sinewy and small in comparison to Derek’s massive form. 

“Because a storm is coming,” Derek said, raising his nose to the air as if he was the wolf. “And I don’t want us trapped in it.” 

“Why didn’t you say so?” Stiles said, his eyes wide. He threw away any notion of getting Derek atop of him within the blink of an eye, scrambling to get dressed as quickly as possible. 

“You distracted me,” Derek said with a lift of an eyebrow before he was gone to take control of the ship. 

When Stiles made it out on deck, the clouds were a menacing black and green, the air smelt of lightning, and the raindrops were so large he was soaked through in seconds, coat or no coat. Normally, he’d turn into a raven, but that wouldn’t help Derek any. Stiles helped by taking the wheel, which Derek had been teaching him to do, so that Derek could run around the deck and take care of everything else. 

Steering the airship was no mean feat, it took skill and strength, and after a few minutes, Stiles was already exhausted, freezing, and completely soaking wet. The sky lit up all around them as thunder continuously rumbled, rocking the ship. Stiles hated the air, hated storms even more, and he wanted nothing but to be back on land. 

“Stiles, get below deck!” Derek shouted over the wind and the rain. Stiles could barely see anymore, but Derek was there before him, gripping his arm tight and forcing him towards the lower deck. Stiles tried to protest, but as it lightninged again, brightening up the sky, Stiles saw why Derek wanted him hidden: there was another airship, larger than their own, and they wanted Derek to dock. “It will be safer for us in the storm, but I want you hidden.” 

“Why?” Stiles asked, holding tight to Derek’s shirt. 

“Go, before they see you, remain hidden!” Derek shouted through the storm. Stiles ran below deck, touching his tattoo as his teeth chattered, smoke wisping around him as he turned into a raven. He flew onto a perch in the corner of the room, near the furnace, to warm up. Derek didn’t mean for the raven to hide, but merely for Stiles to remain a raven while others were on their ship. 

Stiles heard shouting, probably because of the storm, and then the thunderous sound of boots coming down the stairs. Derek appeared, completely soaked through with his hair matted and clothes dripping, flanked by two other men that couldn’t be anything but air pirates. Stiles bristled, ruffling his feathers. Derek looked at him out of the corner of his eye, his lips in a thin line. 

“Search the room,” a man said in a gruff voice. It was then that Stiles realized that they had Derek in shackles. Stiles squawked, rocking back and forth uneasily. “And shut that bird up!” 

Stiles, being smart, flew up higher, hopefully out of reach on the beams near the ceiling. Derek smiled to himself, looking at the ground, not putting up a fight. 

“I told you, I have nothing.” 

“You have this,” a man said, lifting the gold that Stiles stole from the captain of the airship out of his coat pocket he’d left hanging over a chair. Derek shifted where he stood, looking uneasy. 

“Please, that’s all I have,” he said through clenched teeth. The man laughed, tossing the coin purse into the air. Stiles watched as Derek rolled up his shirt sleeve without bringing attention to himself, revealing his own tattoo, inky black and scrawling up his arm: an attacking wolf with it’s teeth barred. Derek looked up at Stiles, then swept a finger over it, the shackles falling to the ground as the men screamed. 

Derek, as a wolf, lunged at them, snapping his teeth angrily as Stiles flew down, pecking and clawing at the eyes of the man who had his money. 

They didn’t kill them, but scared them enough that they ran off, back onto their ship, possibly to bring back reinforcements. Derek, mid run, shifted back into his human form to get back onto the deck to get them to safety. Stiles, too, shifted back, still soaking wet and shivering. There was blood on the floor from where he’d pecked out the one pirate’s eyes. He fell to his knees, thinking about how he had to do it. Derek had made the move to attack, so he had to follow suite as well. 

Stiles used the dirty bath water to scrub the blood away. When Derek returned, Stiles was still scrubbing. With Derek’s hand over Stiles’, he stopped, his fingers shaking from cold. 

“We’re safe, now,” Derek said, pulling Stiles to his feet, hands on Stiles’ arms, moving to help warm him. Derek, too, looked just as cold as Stiles did. “Come on, let’s warm up.” 

Stiles began unbuttoning Derek’s shirt, pushing his suspenders off his shoulders as Derek did the same to Stiles. Once their clothes were discarded and hung up to dry by the furnace, Stiles crawled into bed, burrowing beneath the covers as Derek added more wood, warming the room up further.

Derek’s skin against Stiles’ was cold and clammy. Derek pulled Stiles’ close, his lips against Stiles’ forehead as Stiles clung to Derek, his feet hooking around Derek’s ankles. Derek held onto Stiles, bringing the covers over them completely to trap in heat. Stiles sought out Derek’s lips as he moved against him, his legs sliding up and down Derek’s seeking warmth. Derek’s fingers trailed along Stiles’ bare torso and ass as they kissed. 

“Sleep,” Derek said as Stiles rolled his hips wantonly, eliciting a groan from Derek as the kiss deepened. Stiles ended the kiss, breathing heavily as Derek’s mouth trailed down his neck and shoulder, marking him there. 

“Derek,” Stiles whispered as he continued thrusting against him, rubbing against him. “Please.” Derek gave in, pressing Stiles against the mattress, taking them both in his hand and rocking up into his own fist. Stiles writhed beneath him, his hands never stopping as Derek brought them both to orgasm. It was only then that Stiles was able to find sleep. 

When Stiles awoke, the first thing he realized was that he wasn’t moving. He didn’t feel any of the telling signs that meant he was in the air, no swaying, no wind. He opened his eyes to see sunshine coming through the windows, bright and warm. Stiles grinned as he kicked off the sheets, forgetting that he was completely naked beneath them as he made his way towards the window in order to look out it. 

They were at port on land. Stiles hurried in getting dressed, practically tripping up the stairs as he made his way onto the deck. Derek was there, as a wolf, his tail wagging as he waited for Stiles. Stiles pat Derek’s head, kneeling down in front of him where a leash lay waiting, along with a collar. Stiles frowned down at it, though he knew what he had to do. 

Derek must have landed the airship in the nearest port, a port where he was wanted, so he couldn’t be seen. Derek didn’t like when Stiles went out scavenging on his own when they were on land, since a lot could happen. Stiles was young, still, barely old enough to be on his own, and he definitely looked it. 

“Okay, Derek,” Stiles said with a sigh. He hated having to collar him, to walk him around as if he were a dog, but otherwise Derek would be mistaken as a stray, and the authorities would be called. Stiles snapped the collar in place, running his fingers through Derek’s coat. 

Stiles grew up hearing stories, mostly from his mother, about how fate had someone in store for everyone. Stiles’ ancestors had a saying, that two people were tied together through their lives by a red thread, that it couldn’t be severed, that when they met they would know who they were fated to be with. Stiles knew without a doubt that he was connected to Derek. 

Stiles pressed his face against Derek’s coat, wrapping his arms around him. Derek licked his cheek, asking him to get on with it. 

“I’m being sentimental,” Stiles chided as he pushed at Derek’s massive form. 

There were stories of a wolf and raven, the two of them hunters together, working perfectly in sync. Stiles felt like they were those stories coming true, the magic of his ancestors brought to life. Derek, too, had magic. Together they roamed, searching for a home to call their own. 

Once the collar and leash were on, Stiles set out with plenty of coin to stock their food stores. He picked up fresh bread, jams and jellies, dried meats and jerky, and apples. Stiles bit into one of them as he sat with Derek by his side, a sack full of food between his feet. 

“Oh god… fruit,” Stiles said with a moan. He bit at a piece, but didn’t chew it. Instead he put it up to Derek’s mouth. “Come on, eat it.” 

Derek turned his head away. 

“Fine, I was trying to be nice,” Stiles grumbled, eating the proffered piece of apple. He was halfway through it when a man stopped in front of him, blocking the sun from hitting his face. Stiles looked up as Derek growled. 

“What’s a lad like you doing out here all alone?” The man asked, cracking his knuckles as if the movement was menacing. Derek’s hackles raised, his teeth bared. 

“I’m not alone, mister,” Stiles said, looking up at him innocently. “I have my dog.” 

“It’s not safe for a kid like you around these parts, not with that mouth.” 

Stiles stood up, dusting his ass off as he opened his coat enough to show the man that he had a gun on him in a shoulder holster; Derek’s gun. 

“It’s not safe for you to be threatening me,” Stiles said with a wry grin as he dropped the leash. “Make a move and my dog will attack.” Stiles had a hand on the gun, ready to unholster it and shoot if need be, but the man backed away with his hands raised. He’d clearly thought Stiles was a pushover. 

“Come on, Derek,” Stiles said as soon as the man was out of sight. “I’ve had enough of land today.” 

He picked up the leash and sack of food, heading back to the airship. As he approached, he noticed that Derek’s ship was not empty. Stiles licked his lips, dropping the leash once more so that Derek could walk out ahead of him, his ears perked up, nose in the air as if he’d caught a whiff of the intruders. Stiles pulled out the gun as he approached, aiming it. 

“Who goes there?” Stiles called out in his most authoritative voice he could muster. “You’re trespassing and we don’t take too kindly to that.” 

“Stiles,” a familiar voice said as they turned around to face him. Stiles dropped the gun to his side as Derek growled, ready to pounce. 

“Derek, don’t--”

Stiles broke out into a run, his eyes tearing up at the sight of his father, a man he thought long dead. Stiles wrapped his arms around his father, holding him tight. 

“Dad,” Stiles said, clinging to him. 

“Stiles,” his dad said, holding onto him. Stiles felt the magic of the shift nearby, knowing that Derek returned to his human form. Stiles backed away from the embrace, wiping at his eyes as he holstered the gun. 

“Dad, this is Derek Hale, he’s--”

“Stiles’ guardian,” Derek stated, holding out his hand. Stiles’ father took it as he appraised him. It wasn’t until that moment that Stiles realized his father had a cane, leaning on it like he needed it to remain standing. 

“Dad, what happened?” Stiles asked. He looked his father over for any other signs of injuries. He was older than Stiles remembered, shorter as well, but Stiles supposed that had to do with the fact that he was now fully grown himself. 

“Oh this? Got shot on the job, but you knew that.” 

“They said you’d died,” Stiles said, reaching into his back pocket, bringing out the handkerchief, showing it to his dad. “They gave me this to remember you by.” 

“I was,” his dad said, nodding his head. “Heartbeat stopped, but I couldn’t leave you. It’s taken me this long to track you down. I went to the orphanage--”

“I couldn’t--” Stiles said, his eyes wide. “They were cruel, they--” Stiles swallowed, looking to the ground. He didn’t want to speak of what happened to him at the orphanage, he didn’t even tell Derek about the horrors that befell him there. “I ran away.” 

Stiles chanced a glance at Derek, who was trying to give them privacy. 

“How did you find us?” Derek asked. Stiles’ father gave him a look, then sighed. 

“It wasn’t easy,” he said. “It was more of a chance. I’d heard talk of a boy with a description such as Stiles’, who frequented this port by airship. I’d say it was luck that brought me here to me you. I’d been searching for years, but what matters is that I’ve found you,” he said, giving Stiles the handkerchief back. “We can go home.” 

Stiles took a step towards Derek, looking his father in the eye. 

“I am home,” he said. “Dad, I’ve made a life for myself, here, with Derek.”

“As a pirate?” His dad asked, looking Derek up and down. Stiles lifted his chin defiantly. 

“Scavenger,” Stiles stated. “Derek saved me, and I love him. I love you, too, but, but--”

“Stiles,” Derek said, putting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing it. “Maybe it’s time--”

“He’s my fated,” Stiles said, rolling up his sleeve, shoving his coat out of the way to show his father the raven tattoo. Stiles looked to Derek, his teeth caught on his bottom lip as he waited for Derek to do the same. 

Derek slowly shrugged off his coat, discarding it so that he could roll up his own sleeve, showing the beginning of his own tattoo, teeth sharp and claws ready for attack. 

“We’re the wolf and the raven,” Stiles said, his tone hushed. “We can’t be separated.” Stiles’ father took him into his arms again, holding him close. 

“I’m so glad you haven’t been alone,” he said. “I was afraid you’d been taken hostage, that horrible things had befallen you--”

“Derek won’t let anyone hurt me,” Stiles said, knowing it to be true. “You should come with us,” Stiles said, looking to Derek, who nodded in agreement. “We could use the extra set of hands.” 

“You want me to become an outlaw?” 

Stiles laughed, unable to keep his smile at bay. 

“You can be--- the captain,” Stiles said with a smirk. 

“Wouldn’t that be Derek?” His dad asked. Stiles shrugged. 

“Stiles is the captain,” Derek said, taking a step forward. “Sir, with all due respect to you, Stiles told me of your honest nature and your penchant for rules. We’d be more than happy for you to travel with us, but as you’ve pointed out, I am an outlaw, and Stiles is by association. I do know that he loves you, and now that he knows you to be alive he’d hate to leave your side. It is up to you if you wish to travel with us, or stay.” 

Stiles couldn’t help but puff his chest up with pride at Derek, for he spoke so eloquently. Stiles, unable to help himself, kissed Derek on the cheek. If there was any doubt what his relationship was to Derek before that moment, it was all out in the open afterward. With his cheeks flushed, Stiles looked to his father expectantly for his answer. 

“Can I have time to think on it?” His father asked. 

“Of course,” Derek said, his hands behind his back, his own cheeks with a hint of rose upon them from Stiles kissing him in front of his father. “Take all the time you need. We’re to be docked until midday tomorrow” 

“I’d like Stiles to stay with me, on land, tonight.”

Stiles looked at his father, his jaw clenched as Derek cleared his throat. 

“If Stiles wishes to, he is no prisoner of mine. He is free to come and go as he pleases.” 

“As you’ve said,” his father said, putting a hand on Stiles’ shoulder. “Son, I beg, time and a meal, a warm bed and a proper bath.” 

“Of course,” Stiles found himself saying. “Tomorrow I’ll return,” Stiles said to Derek, giving him a look. 

“I give you until midday,” Derek said earnestly. Stiles nodded as his father lead him off the airship, limping along with his cane. Stiles turned his head as they walked further away, watching as Derek picked up the supplies he’d bought. 

They arrived at an Inn nearby, and sat at a table to eat a hot meal of stew and freshly baked bread. Stiles tore his bread to pieces, dunking it into the hot broth soaking it up. 

“Tell me the truth,” his father begged. 

“I have,” Stiles said, leaning forward. “He is my wolf,” he whispered. “He’d never hurt me.” 

“Stay, live the life you were meant to, safe from pirating and brigands.” 

“I am a pirate,” Stiles hissed low as to not bring attention to himself. “Derek can keep me fed, keep me safe. He can keep you safe, too. Life on land has to be hard on you, come with us I implore you.” 

“You speak the truth, that he hasn’t laid a hand on you?”

“Not in violence, no,” Stiles said, avoiding his father’s gaze. “I’m no longer the child you left behind. I’m a man.” 

“I know you are,” his father said, covering his face with his hands, then reaching for the glass of scotch by his side. Stiles watched as his father drank it down. “But piracy--”

“Is lucrative,” Stiles said, strumming his fingers on the table. “Father, please. Come with us.” 

“If I say no?”

Stiles’ shoulders slumped as he thought about his life with Derek, about the adventure and, with a rushing warmth consuming him, the sex. He thought about living a normal life with his father, getting a real job and working his life away without a day to himself, without love. 

“I have to live my life,” Stiles said, pushing the stew away. “I’ll stay the night, but tomorrow I go back to Derek.” 

“So be it,” his father said, sighing. 

The room itself was nice, but with Stiles’ coin in his pockets, he could have gotten them better. Stiles washed again, this time using more water than he normally would, only because he could. The bed was comfortable, but didn’t have the warmth that Derek provided him. His father snored throughout the night and Stiles found himself wishing for morning as he lay awake the entire night. 

As the sun rose, Stiles got out of bed, making enough noise to rouse his father. 

“Breakfast, before you go,” his father decided. “I insist.” 

Breakfast was a quiet affair, shared in their rooms, brought up by room service. Stiles hadn’t had eggs in years, and bacon with toast. It was a banquet, with orange juice that was freshly squeezed. 

“I want you to come visit,” his father said as Stiles sat staring down at his food forlornly. “I won’t keep you against your will, but I won’t have my son not be in my life. You’re to visit.” He gave Stiles a piece of paper with an address of a port not too far from this one. “I have a house. It’s small, but it suits well enough. You may bring him, if you wish.” 

“I do,” Stiles insisted as he pocketed the paper. “I want you to have this,” Stiles said, giving his father the coin purse from the captain that he filched. It was still half full. 

“I cannot possibly--”

“I insist,” Stiles said. “If I’m to visit, I want to bring you things. Please.” Stiles’ hands were on top of his father’s, keeping the coin purse in his hands. “We always took care of each other, and I want to continue doing that.” 

“I should be the one taking care of you,” his father said. 

Stiles smiled. “I love you,” he said. “I’ll come visit you soon.” 

“I love you, son,” his father said, hugging Stiles one more time before Stiles headed back to the dock. 

As he walked through the city, Stiles checked his pocket watch. It was a gift from Derek, shiny still, keeping perfect time. Stiles’ fingers slid over the intricate design, of a wolf and raven. He knew he made the right choice, going off with Derek into the unknown. He wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Derek was on deck when he returned, waiting. He looked up at the sky, then at Stiles with a grin on his face. 

“You’re early,” Derek said, shielding the sun from his face with his hand. Stiles laughed, coming forward with his arms spread. Derek swept him up into his arms, spinning him around as they kissed. 

“Where to?” Derek asked, his lips pressed to Stiles’. 

“Anywhere,” Stiles said. “I’ll follow you anywhere.”


End file.
